[Freddie Foxxx a.k.a. Bumpy Knuckles]
Hahahaha...
Yall know the rep, yeah, listen
My name is Bumpy Knuckles, I write that fuckin flame
And kill for the right price I got a buckin name
My forty caliber too fresh, stuck in aim
We roll like 18 wheelers in the truckin game
Im nice with mics theres nothin more I like
than to paralyze your left side and leave you all right
I be layin front of your crib with Tec-y all night
Tryin to get them 9 millimeters loaded up tight, listen
Im like a Cadillac, I write a battle rap
so smooth contest youll be out of that
Yall know the beef is stewin, that Bumpy came to ruin
You may be signed but you dont know what the fuck you doin
I make aight hot, I make dope raw
And send you higher than a long Colt four-four
You know the only rap pimp that kept a ho poor
And slam a fool on his back and break the whole floor
[Chorus: Bumpy Knuckles]
A yes yes yall, and you dont stop
We keep on, once the cops are gone
This is real street spit you best be warned
Tell your favorite MC the mic is on
A yes yes yall, and you dont stop
We keep on, once the cops are gone
[John Cena]
Yeah, yeah
Its the J daddy, not Hov or Jam Master
My mic is correct, but yall know the hands faster
See you bitch rappers Im attackin the pile
Yall be cryin foul cause Im hackin your style
I make sure you and your mans done
When I see yall both drop, Im the cat screamin And1
You see me on the team dog you know the games over
Stones on my wrist, and a chip on my shoulder
Sixteens cashin in on another hot beat
Go cop me a drop with the butterscotch seats
And we better not meet, if we do you gon see a change
Make sure you whole FACE gettin rearranged
We rollin up in the blacked out truck dog
Its Freddie Foxxx, now you deal with Corrupt Mob
Its gas on the fire, any time a track blaze
Squad known to beef up the Heat, just like the Shaq trade
[Tha Trademarc]
This my 9 to 5, this aint no hobby cat
Copycat killers bite styles, my rhyme piles is heavy
Give me a beat, man Ill body that
Spittin that heat street raps man they nod to that
What you smilin at? You R&B, man thats hardly rap
You lost the beat, man you bought a map
Matter fact, heres my next rap, borrow that
Been off the street too long, I want my corner back
You aint a player, you a armchair quarterback
You ride the beat like side streets on a flat
Dont play dumb, I know where you came from
You only seen slugs buddy after the rain come
Keep it subtle, Trademarc got you bitch
like babies suckin tits talkin bout mami lets cuddle
Its gon be what its gon be, you duck down
A quiet cat with a violent rap, what now?
[Chorus]

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- Volver a los Discos de John Cena